


New Kid

by sassmaster_tiresias



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crutchie is cute and Jack is a dumbass, Jack and Race are brothers, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Injuries, Rated T for swearing, they're teenage boys they swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassmaster_tiresias/pseuds/sassmaster_tiresias
Summary: Race talks entirely too much.  Sometimes, it means Jack's face gets broken.  Sometimes... it ends a little better than that.





	New Kid

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queer_cheer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_cheer/gifts).



> Just to preface, the way I imagine a modern AU, Jack and Race are adoptive brothers, and Medda is their mom. Not that she's in this, but ya know... just fyi. Jack, Davey, and Katherine are juniors, and Crutchie, Race and Spot are sophomores.

It’s definitely Race’s fault. Jack will stand by that. His broken nose and Race’s scraped elbows are entirely Race’s fault because if he’d just kept his damn mouth shut until they were safely _not moving_ , they would have been fine. But no, Race just had to say something.

Last week, Race broke his skateboard trying to do a trick that Katherine dared him to do, and they were running too late to walk to school this morning (also Race’s fault), so they’re currently cruising down the bike lane on the same block as their school, both balanced on Jack’s skateboard.

“Lean,” Jack orders, and they coast gently up the sidewalk ramp and onto the school grounds.

One arm around Jack so he doesn’t fall off, Race is using the other hand to text. He looks up and past Jack’s shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “who’s the new kid?”

Jack turns his head as much as he can, peering over his own shoulder to try to see who Race is talking about. There’s another minute or two until the warning bell so there’s still a bunch of people milling around outside, but Jack’s pretty sure he recognizes most of them.

Then, Jack sees him, sitting on the concrete wall at the base of the flag pole. He’s got one knee pulled up close to him, balancing a notebook on his thigh, hunched close as he scribbles in it. Honey blonde hair falls across his forehead, blocking his eyes from view. His other leg dangles, his foot a few inches from the ground. There’s a backpack next to him, unzipped, a half stripped pair of earbuds dangling out, and beyond that there’s a crutch leaning against the wall.

Jack is not paying attention to where he’s going. He knows that, but Race’s hand digging into his back as he twists to get a better look at the new guy reminds him that he’s not the only person on the board.

Suddenly the new guy looks up, gaze scanning as if he can feel Jack’s eyes on him. Then, he finds Jack. Their eyes lock. Jack feels frozen for two excruciatingly long heartbeats, and then he grins, glad he wore his hat backwards so it’s not blocking his face. New kid starts to smile back, his whole face lighting up, and then his expression twists into one of fear and in the same second, Race screams, “JACK, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

Next thing he knows, Jack is curled up on his side and his whole face hurts.

“Dude,” Race groans, and Jack manages to open his eyes enough to look and make sure his brother’s brains aren’t splattered on the sidewalk. They’re not. His elbows look fucked but it’s nothing that some big band-aids and some infection cream won’t fix. He doesn’t look like he’s injured himself otherwise, but Jack will ask when he doesn’t feel like his face is about to cave in.

Race pushes up onto his palms and gets his knees under him, sitting back on his heels. He rolls his shoulders and finally looks over at Jack, eyes widening. “Oh my god, Jack!”

“Ow,” Jack mutters. He sits up, slowly, and a gush of warmth pours down his chin, the pain in his nose increasing twofold. Some of the blood gets into his mouth since he’s breathing through it, and the tang of it snaps him back to full attention. “Guess I hit it face first,” he hisses.

Race is right in front of him now, hands shaking unsteadily as he tries to figure out what to do about the stream of blood on Jack’s face. “Ya sure as hell did,” he answers. “Why weren’t ya lookin’ where we were goin’?”

As if in answer to Race’s question, there’s some hurried, uneven steps on the concrete behind Jack.

“Holy shit, you okay?” It’s the new kid, backpack slung over the shoulder opposite his crutch, still hanging open. He drops crookedly to his knees at Jack’s side, fumbling a pack of tissues out of his bag and shoving the contents into Race’s hands.

Race puts one hand on the back of Jack’s head, tilting his older brother’s head back and pressing the tissues to his nose.

“No, no! He’ll choke on his own blood,” new kid urges and his hand presses above Race’s, pushing Jack’s chin back down. His touch is so gentle, if he could just keep his hand there in Jack’s hair, that would be great.

Unfortunately, his hand doesn’t stay. As it moves away, he leans down in front of Jack so Jack can see him. “Ya hit that pole real hard.” His eyes scan over Jack’s face, brows furrowing, and he glances to Race, who’s still pinching Jack’s nose while Jack breathes hard through his mouth. “You sure he’s alright? He ain’t talkin’ much.”

In Jack’s upper periphery, Race rolls his eyes. “He’s fine, he just thinks you’re pretty. Don’t worry, Jack’s skull’s harder ‘n a rock.”

“Shut the fuck up, Racer,” Jack grits out. He reaches one bloody hand out, planting it on Race’s shoulder and pushing himself to his feet.

Race grins at the new kid. “See, he’s fine,” he says despite his continued grip on Jack’s aching nose. He switches his left hand to hold on to his brother’s face and offers the other to the new kid. “I’m Race, by the way. This idiot’s my big brother, Jack.”

Still staring worriedly at Jack, the new kid shakes Race’s hand. “Crutchie. Well, Charlie, but my friends call me Crutchie.”

“Nice to meetcha, Crutch,” Race says. He insinuates himself under one of Jack’s arms, stomping on the end of the forgotten skateboard to kick it up into his free hand. “Better get ‘im to the nurse, make sure he didn’t break anything more important than his face.”

xXx

At lunch that day, Jack is sitting with a splint on his nose, wearing what appears to be the most embarrassing t-shirt Race could dig out of the lost and found—bright yellow, about two sizes too big, and a giant cartoon cat on the front. Katherine and Davey had fussed over him sufficiently when he showed up late to first period history. Spot had just huffed a laugh on seeing him when he entered the cafeteria and sat down across the table, throwing an arm around Race.

“Stop staring, you’re going to freak him out,” Katherine mumbles next to Jack. She takes a bite of her turkey sandwich and kicks him when he doesn’t obey.

Jack spins away from staring at Crutchie to yell, “Hey!” at Katherine, but then looks back again. “He’s sittin’ by ‘imself,” Jack grumbles. 

Race glances over his shoulder before swiping another chicken nugget off of Jack’s tray neglected lunch tray—chewing makes his face hurt. “He’s in my English class,” Race says. “Seems like he’s real smart, answered all the stupid questions about Oedipus.” He hisses and snatches his arms back when he accidentally rests his heavily bandaged elbows on the table.

Spot snickers, whispering, “Motherfucker,” under his breath and ducking when Katherine throws a piece of orange peel at him.

“He’s all alone,” Jack reiterates, and this time Davey’s attention gets drawn to Crutchie.

Davey actually looks sympathetic, his brows crinkling as he dog-ears the page in his book. “It’s his first day,” he says. “He probably just hasn’t met anybody yet.”

Jack’s fingers drum on the table. “He met me,” he says, then turns to Davey, leaning across Katherine to look him in the eye. “Dave, gimme a pack a tissues.”

“What?” Davey asks, looking confused.

Jack holds his hand out, flexing his fingers. “Tissues, Davey, I know you got some.”

Still perplexed, Davey pulls a brand new pack of tissues out of his meticulously organized backpack. Jack stands quickly, stubbornly ignoring the way his head still spins a little. “Be right back,” he declares, then strides across the cafeteria.

Crutchie is scrawling in his notebook again, half eaten PB&J sitting beside him. He looks up when Jack pulls out the chair across from him, smiling so brightly that Jack’s brain swirls a little more. “Hey!” he greets him. “Ya look much better already, way less blood.”

Jack smiles even though the skin pulls across his swollen face. He hopes the charm still works even when he’s black and blue and puffy and wearing a cat t-shirt. “Yeah, sorry about that.” He lays the pack of tissues between them on the table. “Think I owe ya those.”

The blush that spreads across Crutchie’s cheeks as he laughs and covers his face is the best thing Jack’s seen all day.

“Ya know my brother may be a dumbass,” Jack says, leaning closer despite himself, “but he ain’t a liar.” He looks pointedly at Crutchie, bending low over the table so their eye lines are even. 

Crutchie blushes even deeper. “No?” he says, and leans in in kind.

Jack shakes his head. “Come sit with us?” he asks, nodding back towards his friends, who he’s sure are all staring at them less than subtly. “Come sit with me?”

Closing his notebook, Crutchie puts it in his backpack where it sits on the chair next to him, then slides the tissues across and drops them in, too. “Sounds good,” he says, his cheeks still pink.

Jack smiles and stands, waiting until Crutchie has joined him before leading him back over to his friends. Katherine gets up and moves to the other side and Jack takes the seat beside Davey, pulling out the last chair for Crutchie.

“Guys, this is Charlie,” he says.

Race speaks around a mouthful of food. “His friends call him Crutchie. Jack ran us into a pole this morning cause he was distracted by Crutchie’s beauty.”

Katherine bursts out laughing and even Davey chuckles while Spot just nods and offers a sage, “Nice.”

Crutchie blushes yet again, but his hand slides across the table, knuckles brushing against Jack’s. They share a glance, both smiling, and Jack hooks his pinky around Crutchie’s, his own cheeks darkening.

Yeah, this was definitely worth the broken nose.


End file.
